


Substitute

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i don't usually write things oh god what am i doing</p>
    </blockquote>





	Substitute

**Author's Note:**

> i don't usually write things oh god what am i doing

So you're kind of fucked up. Alright, a little more than "kind of," but who wouldn't be in your situation? Strutting around in little green panties, beating the shit out of men twice your size for a portion of you life isn't exactly normal. You try not to think about it, especially try not to think about the years before you met Bruce. God awful times.

Then there's the whole dying thing. 

Right. So the way you see it, with the way your life is you're allowed to have some issues. Again who wouldn't? And wanting to fuck and/or murder your adopted father isn't **that** much of a big deal. Jesus you're messed up. You run a hand over your face and let out something between a groan and sigh. You **want** Bruce Wayne. Thirty thousand years of therapy wouldn't be enough to cover this. At least you'll admit to yourself now. That's gotta be some kind of progress there, coming to terms with it or some bullshit. Before, when you still donned the Robin costume, you always lied to yourself. _No way, you couldn't possibly want him. He's like **60** , He's like your fucking dad! The reason your boxers are sticky in the morning has **nothing** to do with the dream you just had where Bruce grabbed you, pinned you down and-_ "You're a shitty liar." You interrupt your own thoughts. So maybe it is a good thing to come to terms with it. You hope to god Bruce never picked up on it.

It's hard and so confusing. You want Bruce dead more than anything. And you're angry, so angry at him. He was supposed to protect you. You trusted him so much. He ended up hurting you more than anyone. And now you're just confused and alone. You hate him. You want to punch him, kick him, watch him bleed and choke and feel his hands grip at your hair and feel his lips against you and oh my god can you get anymore screwed up?

You weren't hesitant when you first met Thomas. You both wanted the same thing. Both wanted to hurt Batman. It felt good, too good betraying Bruce like that. Going behind his back for this guy. You two bonded over your mutual hate. Things got kind of weird from there. The first time Tommy kissed you, you started to pull away. An obscenity started to fall from your lips. But he pushed on, pulled you closer. You caught a sniff of his cologne, Bruces cologne, and your heart sped up to a mile a minute. You melted into the kiss. You wanted it badly.

He was like Bruce in so many ways. But so different. When he revealed his new face you nearly choked on your own spit. For a split second you thought it was actually Bruce, but the longer you stared the more distorted he gets. His cheeks bones we just a little too high, his chin just a touch too narrow and his eyes were all wrong. They weren't that harsh yet warm glare Bruce had. They lacked the edge that made him who he was. But you didn't care, couldn't bring yourself to. Not when he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you up and into him for a hard bruising kiss. You groaned in the back of your throat and wrapped your arms around his neck. He looked just like Bruce if you squint. 

 

The first time you call him Bruce by mistake his hips slowed for a second. "Say it again." He growls into your ear and of course you comply. You let **his** name fall from your mouth in a shaky sigh. It seems to get him off faster than anything and really it does the same for you.

It continued like this for a short time. You ended up on your back in a safe house, warehouse, alleyway, anywhere really. Groaning out "Yes- fuck. Right there." Or "Oh God Bruce, _Please-"_ And sure, it's eight flavors of fucked up. But it makes you _feel_ good and whats the harm of that? 


End file.
